Shattered
by A Beauty to the Rhythm
Summary: "If it helps heal us, then no, it can't wait." A post-ep for 7x01, 'Driven'.


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><p><strong>Shattered<strong>

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><p>Castle sleeps hard. Hard enough not to feel that Kate is shaking in the bed beside him. Her back is turned to him, curved taut as she hugs the edge of the mattress, putting as much space between them as she can. She's still wearing the two layers of clothing she had on before bed; couldn't bear taking off even her button-up. It's only fabric, but it's one more layer between him and her heart.<p>

Deep inside her chest, the cement is being mixed, and bricks are being laid in a neat row. A wild, panicked part of her is kicking at them like a child throwing a tantrum, trying to undo the work, but still the builder makes progress.

She gulps for air in between long, hold-your-breath-to-suppress-them kind of sobs, trying not to wake him, trying not to make a single noise, but it's too much to contain. When she thinks about him lying behind her, lips parted and sleeping like a damn baby with nothing on his conscience, something she's never felt before slicks through her veins like a caustic IV drip. It's rage, irritation, and grief all together, and it makes her fling aside the covers and stumble towards the bathroom in the quiet hum of darkness, choking on a noise that makes her sound like a wounded animal.

They've lost it. Two months ago, she'd been giddy, full up on love, and every moment with him was playful and fun and _happy_.

And now they're shattered. She's shattered.

She collapses against the cool bathtub, arms sprawled over the ledge, and she's really crying now, great gulping sobs, worse than any of the tears she cried when she thought he was missing, because she at least then she thought he needed her help, thought he was a victim. She finds that she can't control her limbs, her legs striking out against the tile as she keens, and she realizes why people beat their chests or the hard-packed soil of the ground when they lose their loved ones.

She hasn't lost Castle, but they've lost what they had.

She thinks that might be worse.

No. They will get it back. They have to. He_ is_ a victim.

The turmoil that she's been containing for two months becomes a full-fledged war, faith and doubt locked in battle. She knows which side she's rooting for, but isn't sure that means her side will reign victorious.

She concentrates on the faith. Goes over the proof, the facts that support the argument that Castle was not purposefully running from their wedding. She's holding tight to those dengue fever antibodies. Because it means Castle was not in that tent for the entire summer.

But it doesn't change the fact that they are on two completely different pages of their novel now. He'd tried to comfort her a little bit, sure, but all evening she could tell he just didn't really _get_ it. He's exceptionally adept at reading her, but he is still a man, and sometimes still very oblivious. She'd feel like an ass if she beat him up over it, because obviously _something_ happened to him, and he doesn't deserve to wake up to a livid, crazy girlfriend when he thought that just yesterday he had a loyal, trusting one.

A shadow falls over her, black against the already dim bathroom.

She thought if he came in, she'd be able to quiet down, to hide how very distraught she is. Thought that if she left their bedroom to let her emotions out, she'd be able to look at him again without tearing up. But now that he's here, she's sobbing harder than before.

Castle gets to his knees beside her, but she doesn't turn away from the tub, just presses her forehead harder against the cool plastic as her mouth turns down in an ugly, tight mess.

"Kate, Kate," he whispers her name over and over, trying to touch her, trying to hold her hand, to lift her face, smooth her hair away from her forehead, but she folds her arms against him, curls into herself, hiding, hurting,_ god_, hurting.

He finally breaks. Takes her by the arms and hauls her into his lap, so forcefully that they fall together backwards against the cabinets on the opposite side of the room. She goes limp at last and lets her arms uncross. She doesn't wrap them around him, but she lets herself cry onto him, into him, her mouth open over his heart.

She cries until a pounding headache takes over and her nose is so stuffed she can't breathe, until her eyes are spent of tears and itchy. The whole time he rocks her. Rocks her like she's a child, with arms still strong despite days without food or water.

And then there's silence, just the stroke of his thumbs up and down her spine, the occasional deep breath from her until her muscles stop trembling.

And finally, when the storm is over, he speaks.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I couldn't see how much you were hurting."

She doesn't really have a response. Because for someone who had been so in-tune with her, it was weird that he couldn't see how upset she was. She thought she couldn't hide her emotions from him anymore, but apparently she did a decent job of it today.

He stiffens, his body suddenly tight against her.

"What is it?" she snuffles.

"Nothing."

"You just thought of something," she says. "I can tell."

"I'm sure you don't want to talk theory right now. It can wait."

"If it can help heal us, then it can't wait."

He nods. "I was just thinking that if someone wanted to hurt us, hurt you, what would be the worst thing they could do? If they killed me, in any traceable way, you'd have the closure you were missing with your mom. You're strong. You'd move on."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, Castle."

"I'm sure of it. Look at you. You tell me I've been gone for two months, that you thought I was dead, and you're just as gorgeous as ever. You haven't started shooting up or falling into a bottle; you're eating, you're sleeping."

"Not as much as I used to."

"No, but you are. You would have been okay. But what would have been worse is if they'd taken me, maybe killed me, but left a mystery behind, no concrete evidence, no way for you to arrest the person responsible and close the case."

She's silent, because he's right. Because even though he doesn't know it, his photo is taped to the glass behind her shutters.

"But then I got to thinking. The worst damage is always psychological. The worst thing anyone could do to us is drive a wedge between us, create this awful chasm that neither of us can bear to breach, so instead of trying to find our way back to one another, we end up walking away."

His breath catches in his chest, and it seems that the horror of that thought - the end of Rick and Kate - is finally hitting home. She grabs his hand, because finally, finally, he's seeing a shard of what she's seeing, this black gaping maw in front of them ready to swallow their love, their faith, their relationship whole.

"Don't let them do that to us," he chokes out. "Please, don't let them do that do us."

He's crying. At last, thick tears are spilling down his face, and she doesn't waste a second, she throws her leg over him, crushing herself into him, and both of their chests are heaving, gasping, juddering. She's completely oblivious to the fact that their pelvises are grinding together. They're not there yet. But she is aware of her heart, aware of how it suddenly feels like a caged tiger, charging at the faceless bricklayer, knocking down the low wall so that she can get to him. Her ribs press hard against his, the sharp angles of their bodies meeting and melting.

No, they won't be kissing, they won't be laughing, smiling, making love anytime soon.

But at least they're sobbing together. Crying for what they might lose. And knowing that their love story is in danger can only be a good thing - can only mean that he wants to fight with her. Wants to fight for them.

They'll find their way home.

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><p><em>AN:_

_Shit. I'm so sorry. I wasn't planning to write a post-ep, and I definitely wasn't planning on writing angst. Oops. I haven't read any others yet, and I wrote this immediately after my first viewing, so please excuse any errors or similarities with other stories. It's purely my emotional reaction, and I wasn't going to post, but if it helps anyone process their emotions after last night's episode, then it will have served its purpose. Thanks to Meg for holding my hand during the episode and while I was writing this._

_Thoughts?_


End file.
